


Never better

by Tinusica



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Fuckbuddies, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23855923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinusica/pseuds/Tinusica
Summary: Of letting in and letting go. Of blurred lines and mixed-up memories. Because sometimes things are so messed up, it all seems to blend together.Kind of dark and sad. And naughty.
Relationships: Sara Sidle/Nick Stokes
Kudos: 9





	Never better

The ghosts of her past clung to her like a shadow cast on a heated pavement in the thick afternoon sunlight, always on her heels, all long and wavy and shifting in the smallest of the heavy breeze, reminding her of their presence. Ghosts all over, floating around her like scattered dark clouds sailing slowly through the sky on a starry night, expecting to encounter the cold front, threatening to outshine the moonlight by emitting light of its own, brighter than the Moon, hotter than the Sun, accompanied by a crack of thunder louder than all of them.

Because sometimes, she can hear them. All of them. All at once. Screaming. Puffing their last breaths. Gurgling under the water. Pleading with death to not claim them yet, not yet. All knowing that darkness will follow soon.

Sometimes, she can see them. Creeping up on her from behind a corner, startling her in mid-step. Gawking at her in the rear-view mirror. All pale and slimy and cold, oh so cold. It was times like these that she knew.

She knew she needed to refocus. She needed a distraction. To forget, even if only for a moment.

He cannot remember what case they were working on, the first time he let her in his house. It must have been one of those gruesome, violent ones. They have always made the angry side of her reappear. Never before had he realised how much a furious persona could captivate his attention. Maybe because she reminded him of himself. It didn't really matter why; it just pulled him to her.

And so, as she surfaced in front of his door one day after shift, all wild and hungry and vibrating with rage, he let her in. Only back then he did not fully acknowledge that with letting her in his bedroom, he would also be letting her enter his heart.

She needed his help.

And he obliged.

He liked to think of himself as a gentleman. But there was nothing gentle in the way she helped him get rid of his clothes. She was needy, impatient, and rough. All volatile and buzzing with pent up energy. Tugging and yanking, as if her life depended on getting him naked.

He remembered only snippets, vibrant images.

Her hands roaming, wanting to touch his body all at once, kneading, scratching, caressing. Her lips on his pulse, his lips behind her ear, licking, kissing, biting. His hands on her nipples, her hand on his cock. Twisting, pinching, massaging. Moving, always moving, relentlessly, never stopping. Her, shivering when he found her sweet spot, bucking her hips into his erection. His breath hitching with a rather rough flick of her wrist over his member. Her hand backing him down on the sofa with a forceful push to his chest.

The blissful feeling when she sank down onto his shaft for the first time. Her mouth forming a silent "O" when he thrust upwards, meeting her halfway. Her hands pushing him further into the cushions, not letting him take control. Her strangled cry of release as she threw her head back, riding it out with abandon. His grunt muffled by her neck as he continued to buck his hips erratically when he came, her inner muscles milking him.

His hands on the small of her back, keeping her seated on him just a little bit longer.

" _More"_ , _"harder"_ and " _YES!"_ the only words they exchanged that time.

She needed him.

And so he let her fuck him.

* * *

He used to wear his heart on his sleeve, all kind and gentle and hopeful. His emotions raw and visible, his heart unguarded, defenceless, and pervious, getting easily riled up by the atrocities they had to face, day in, day out.

The full force of the unfairness of the tragic fates making his heart ache in his chest, dull throbbing building up inside his skull, making his breath ragged and shallow, clenching fists, squeezing eyes and grinding teeth, driving him crazy, slowly, steadily.

Because sometimes, he wanted to cry, to scream, to get rid of the frustration with the flawed system, with life, with death. To open up, and let it pour out of his body and soul, onto the floor, staining the walls, the ceiling, and everything in between, freeing him.

Sometimes, it made him want to punch something. Or someone. To make things even. To iron all the wrinkles. To pay all the debts. To revenge. Out for blood. It was times like these that he knew.

He knew he needed to disconnect. He needed a distraction. To unwind, even if only for a moment.

She cannot remember what case they were working on, the first time she found him on her doorstep. Too many cases brought him to the emotional brink lately. He needed them to stop clawing at his mind, at his heart. He needed to stop before he would do something bad, something stupid, harmful, something he would regret. She always told him it was dangerous, that he should learn to distance himself, not seeing the irony in her own words.

And so, as she found him on her doorstep one day after shift, all restless and disheartened and in dire need of soothing, eyes sad and tired and tearful, she could not deny him what he came for.

He needed her help.

And she obliged.

She liked to think of herself as a caring friend, attending to him, innocently. But there was nothing innocent in the way his fingers fondled her body. Sensual, erotic, yet tender. Relentless, never leaving her without contact, as if he were afraid she would disappear if he lifted his fingertips. His touch was light, gentle when caressing her skin at first.

She remembered only snippets, slow-motion like visions.

Her top disconnecting from her body, followed by her pants and undergarment, leaving her naked and aroused. Her back being pressed against the cold wall.

His motions becoming more urgent with every kiss he left on her neck, her shoulder, her breasts. Scorching, searing. Her hand gripping his biceps, his fingers between her thighs. Goosebumps erupting all over her body.

His hand under her knee, lifting, baring her to him. His teeth biting her lobe, her neck, her collarbone. Him, sliding his length along her slit, teasing, before he pressed the tip of his cock into her heat, stopping briefly to catch his breath. Her nails scraping the skin on his back when he drove all the way in a second later. Her back hitting the wall with every rough thrust. Him, breathing heavily, sliding his tongue out to run it over the spot just below her ear, making her tingle with excitement.

His forearms pushing her leg higher, getting better access to her core. A whimper escaping her mouth every time his pubic bone grazed over her clit.

Her teeth marking his shoulder as she spiralled down to blissfulness, convulsing around him. Him, desperately clinging to her as he couldn't take it any longer, creaming her insides.

Her, hissing when he withdrew after a while. The warm cum trickling down her thigh.

" _Need you"_ , _"please"_ and _"don’t stop"_ the only words that dropped from their lips on the occasion.

He needed her.

And so she let him fuck her.

* * *

He was gravitating towards her because he knew she could understand him.

She was gravitating towards him because she knew he would never hurt her.

Neither of them could pinpoint the moment the "occasional stop-by" on their way home became a regular occurrence.

But it was okay, as long as they went their own separate ways afterwards. The encounters leaving both of them calm and numb and cold and hollow, again and again, and again.

Never really speaking, just feeling, and touching and kissing and healing.

Only this one time. This time, when she started to get up to gather her clothes, he caught her wrist.

" _Stay?"_

Never kiss on the lips. Never murmur each other's names. Never maintain eye contact. Those were the unspoken rules. To stay safe. To protect themselves from each other. And they had followed them to a dot.

Until this one time. This time, when he caught her off guard, she met his gaze.

_"I can't."_

And he would never find her on his doorstep again, and she would never let him in her bedroom again.


End file.
